


Mission Report: August 21, 1983

by thirsty4stucky



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Captain America - Freeform, One Shot, Oneshot, Other, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Stucky - Freeform, stevebucky - Freeform, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 09:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20043676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirsty4stucky/pseuds/thirsty4stucky
Summary: The story begins March 1983Tensions are high, and those opposing the Marcos regime seem bent as ever to watch the dictatorship fallFerdinand Marcos turns to his last resort to kill the people's spirit





	Mission Report: August 21, 1983

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is my first fic ever (so please be nice :<) and it was inspired by a tweet by user @616buck saying the Marcoses probably got the Winter Soldier to execute Senator Ninoy Aquino (the people's hope for ending the cruel dictatorship) upon his return to the Philippines (to read a small explanation on that, check the end notes :) )
> 
> There IS some dialogue in Filipino, so afterwards I will put the English translation in full, along with short cultural explanations within the context of the story.
> 
> I had fun writing this, so please enjoy!

**March, 1983**  
**Boston, Massachussets, United States of America**

There was a knock at the door.

"Pasok," said Ninoy, allowing his visitor to enter as he sat in his desk, sipping coffee and reading the morning's newspaper. 

Senator Benigno Aquino Jr., having been exiled from his own country, had been resigned to life like this in the US for nearly three years. His only reprieve was his activism work occasionally bringing him to speak against the dictatorship happening in his own homeland at lectures, symposiums, and freedom rallies. But most days, mornings were just like this: newspaper and coffee.

"Ginoong Aquino," said the voice that had entered. Ninoy looked up to see one of his aides, Martino.

"Oh, Martino. Good to see you. Anong balita?"

"Mukhang hindi po maganda, sir. Tumataas na ang tensyon. Dumadami na ang mga rally, lumalakas na ang CPP-NPA. Ang dami nang sumasaling mga aktibista at rebelde. Ginoo-"

Martino stopped before completing his last thought. Ninoy's brow furrowed at him.

"If you have something to say, Martino, sabihin mo na."

"Sir, mukhang ipapatumba na nila ang punong Ministrong Marcos."

"Kailan?"

"'Di pa sigurado ang mga undercover agents natin sa bansa, pero malapit na raw po, sir. Umiinit na raw ang mga usap-usapan. Tsaka..."

"Diyos mio naman, Martino, just say what you need to say or don't waste my time."

"Pasensya na po, sir. Kaso lang po, may chismis na pong umiikot, galing daw po mismo sa Malacañang."

"Well, what are they saying?"

Ninoy's aide swallowed nervously and sweat began to bead his forehead. It had dawned on Ninoy that whatever Martino had to say to him, it was going to be grave.

"Marcos is dying," Martino choked out, looking at the ground.

This made Ninoy lean back in his chair, half in disbelief.

"Dying, kamo?"

"Lupus daw po."

The senator took a few moments to absorb the news. His fraternity brother turned archenemy, dying. Despite the inevitability of death, the possibility of it for his rival hadn't even crossed his mind. _Just as well_, thought Ninoy. He was old enough to have a heart attack (which already happened three years ago, what brought him to the States in the first place), it was no surprise that Ferdinand Marcos could be at death's door himself. After a few more minutes, his face filled with resolution, as if he had just made an important decision. Martino, who was nervously staring at his shoes, waiting for his reply, looked up as he heard Ninoy begin to speak.

"I think it's time for me to go back."

Martino looked visibly taken aback by the statement.

"Po?"

"If it is true that they are planning to oust Marcos, then it's just as well that I can try to convince him to give in and return the country to democracy. The new state of his health may make him realize that he can't force things to stay the way they are for much longer."

The young aide could only be filled with fear, knowing full well what the Marcoses can do to the senator if he returned back to the Philippines.

"Mr. Aquino, ibibilanggo ka nila! Or worse, they'll _kill_ you!" yelled Martino impassionately.

However, Ninoy's mind was already made up, and his aide could not convince him any way otherwise.

"_Let them_," Ninoy firmly said. "If it's my fate to die by an assassin's bullet, so be it. But I cannot be petrified by inaction, or fear of assassination, and therefore stay in the sidelines- not when my countrymen need me."

"O-opo."

"Let the staff know we need to make preparations. I will handle telling my family."

Martino quickly scurried out the room to make arrangements, and Ninoy stood up, walking towards the door, ready to tell his family of his new plans.

His protective wife, Cory, was not going to be happy, but then again, he had always told her and his kids that his duty was to his country first, and his family second. There was nothing they can do to sway him from what he had to do.

**One week later**  
**Malacañan Palace, Manila, Philippines**

"The Aquinos? On their way back to Manila?' asked Ferdinand, enraged.

He had gone to great lengths so make sure his rival Aquino would not find their way back to his country. He had caused him too much trouble with all the unrest he sparked among the everyday Filipinos.

"I'm afraid so, sir," said his advisor.

"And pray tell, _who_ came across this information?"

"Our mole in his staff, sir."

"_PUNYETA!_" Ferdinand yelled, taking a swipe at a small stack of papers on his desk out of anger, sending documents flying.

He felt dizzy immediately after, and crumpled into his seat. He put the middle finger and thumb of his right hand to his temples and rested his elbow on his desk. _Natural of Aquino to ruin everything_, he thought.

"And what about the ban I put on that keeps them from getting passports?"

"They got passports anyway. Someone helped them.

"Sino?"

"Si Rashid Lucman po, of the Bangsomoro Liberation Front."

"Tanginang mga Moro 'yan. Mga pesteng komunista. At saan nanggaling ang mga pasaporte?"

"May nahanap silang sympathizer galing sa Philippine consulate. Kinausap ng isang congressman, si-" the advisor looked down at his files, looking for the name he needed, "Roque Ablan, Jr. po."

"Anak ng leche."

Ferdinand sat there, fuming, while his advisor stared at him, awaiting his word on what to do next. Ferdinand turned to him.

"Sabihin niyo sa lahat ng mga international airline na papasakayin siya, they will not be given landing rights."

"But sir, considering the charged environment, pwede pa rin sila lumusot."

"Hayaan mo yan sa akin. I'll handle our Plan B."

"Ano po yun, Sir Marcos?"

"Gagawa ako ng paraan na hindi na tayo guguluhin ng pesteng Aquino na yan... for good."

"O-opo, ginoo," his advisor finally said while giving a reluctant nod after a few tense silent moments.

After Ferdinand nodded at him, telling him he can leave, he turned toward the telephone situated on his desk, dialing a number he had memorized by heart but would never dare give to anyone else.

"Alexander? It's Ferdinand. How are you? Listen, I might need the assistance you offered after all."

**That night**  
**Clandestine bunkers, Camp Lehigh, New Jersey, United States of America**

Alexander Pierce marched into the dank cement room. The room held no decoration, Pierce thought it was a waste of resources. Straightforward and void of warmth, the walls were cement with all the tables and chairs made of cold bone-chilling metal. A small table to the side held various equipment needed for the soldier, like syringes filled with sedatives and a mouth guard, and in the middle... the machine.

It was less of a machine and more of a metal monstrosity, in fact. Overhead tools swiveled in and out of place for necessary "procedures", and at the very center of it all was a struggling... creature of sorts. No, he was not a man. It was as if he, too, was simply a part of the machine. He struggled against his restraints, but 40 years of doing so had already taught him it was no use. His steel blue eyes held not even a semblance of the soul he once had. This was not a person.

"Is he ready?" asked Alexander, in Russian.  
"Yes, sir," replied one of the handlers. "Just say the words."

Alexander gave a small nod and began.

"Longing. Rusted. Furnace."

The Winter Soldiers eyes widened at the familiar words. _Not this_, he thought, _not again_. _No_, he pleaded. To no avail. The clamp over his mouth allowed him no words. All he could do was yell into the mouthpiece, pushing against it so hard that he began to taste blood on his lips. He thrashed against his restraints, desperate to finally get away, but it only seemed to cause him more pain.

"Daybreak. Seventeen. Benign."

Tears began to fill the soldier's eyes. No matter how many times that happened, what frustrated him most was that he never understood why.

"Nine. Homecoming. One."

Alexander circled the machine and looked on with the slightest of wonder. It escapes him how, despite doing the same thing again and again for four decades, the Winter Soldier attempted to fight back and break free every single time. _There's something he's trying to get back to_, Alexander deduced to himself. _Maybe the life he had... or rather, a person?_

However, before he could let his thoughts stray further, Alexander realized he needed to finish the task at hand. He circled around one last time and turn to face the soldier, crouching, staring straight into his eyes. For a split second, he thought he saw a flicker of emotion within the icy pools. Was it sadness? Impossible. The Winter Soldier felt nothing. He let out the phrase that locked everything in place.

"Freight car."

And just like that, the struggle ended. The soldier sat straight, blank face staring directly at the wall. The handlers took off his restraints and mouthpiece.

"Ready to comply."

The initiation was a success, as always. Alexander smiled.

"So, soldier. How do you feel about a little tropical vacation?"

**The next day**  
**Malacañan Palace, Manila, Philippines**

The Winter Soldier took a finger and tugged on the edge of his collar that kept rubbing against his neck. These Filipinos’ clothes were _itchy_. 

Alexander took the time to explain to him that what he was wearing was called a “barong”. It was made from pineapple fibers and was the traditional wear in the region. “They’re big on respect,” says Alexander. “It must be worn to meet someone as important as the head of the nation in his offices.” It’s not like the soldier had a choice. The brown-skinned people were small, so even if the staff gave him the biggest size they had on hand, it still clung tightly to the soldier’s form. His particularly bulky metal arm stretched out the fabric, threatening to send a tear through it, so the soldier did all he could to restrain his movements. It’s all a part of the job he had no choice but to do anyway.

A sickly looking man, who the soldier could only assume to be the Prime Minister, sat at the desk, looking down at some written reports with a wrinkle between his brows. He heard the two men come in, and he looked up, greeting them with a beaming smile.

”Alexander!” he said, greeting his old friend with a hearty handshake. “It has been too long.”

”Yes, well,” Alexander replied in good nature, “in our business, that may be a good thing.”

Ferdinand chuckled. “Please,” he said, gesturing at the two armchairs that sat before his desk, “sit!”

Alexander moved to take his seat while the soldier remained where he was standing. Blank-faced as ever and staring intently at the prime minister, awaiting orders. Ferdinand looked at him expectantly, and Alexander followed his gaze.

”It’s a bit unnerving at the start, but you get used to it,” says Alexander. “He won’t sit, by the way. Must be on attention at all times.”

Ferdinand nodded while his facial expression showed that this made sense to him. “Smart,” he comments.

”Shall we get down to business, then?” reminds Alexander.

”Why, yes. How do we start?”

”Dear friend, you need not explain it to me. Speak to the Winter Soldier himself. He speaks your language, I made sure of that.”

The soldier silently agreed in his head. Alexander had tossed him a language guidebook on the plane and told him to learn it. He had no difficulties retaining that kind of knowledge, he was more or less fluent by the time the plane landed.

”Magandang umaga, iho.”

”Magandang umaga, ginoo. Handa na po para sa mga utos niyo.”

Ferdinand looked at Alexander, clearly impressed. Alexander only gave him a small shrug and a knowing smirk, as if saying, _I told you so._ The prime minister turned back to look at the soldier again.

”Ayon sa balita, ika-21 ng Agosto ang dating ng Senador Benigno Aquino dito sa Maynila. Ililipad kita sa Boston para makasakay ka sa eroplano niya. Paglapag ng eroplano dito, kailangan mo siyang patayin. Ibaril mo sa harap mismo ng nagaabang na taumbayan. Naiintindihan mo ba?”

”Klaro po, ginoo,” replied the Winter Soldier.

”Mabuti naman,” Marcos said approvingly. He turned to his friend.

”I need you to be with him on the plane. Make sure it’s sought through. Get in however way you want- make something up, pose as a journalist- I don’t really care. Get out with him as soon as the deed is done and leave no traces.”

”I usually don’t involve myself in in-field operations, but for you, I’ll make an exception,” replied Alexander.

”Thank you, my friend. There is no one I would trust more with the task. If that is all, then it is settled. You can see yourselves out. I’ll speak to you when the deed is done.”

”Good luck, Mr. Prime Minister,” Alexander said, bidding his friend farewell as he turned toward the door.

Marcos said nothing, only nodding at him whilst already deep in his own thoughts. _This better work_, he said to himself.

**Morning, 21 August 1983**  
**Manila International Airport (MIA), Parañaque, Philippines**

The Winter Soldier sat patiently in his seat, keeping close watch of Alexander, who was busy schmoozing with the other journalists as part of his cover. They had let him on as his bodyguard. The soldier had spent a few days hopping in out of the plane they had taken from Boston, jumping among different countries, as a direct flight would not have been allowed to land.

He spent all his time observing his target. It seemed to him Aquino already knew he was going to be killed. It was just a question of when. The Winter Soldier thought that had he been like a normal person, he would have felt bad for the man knowing what was about to happen to him. He wouldn’t know though, as the capability of feeling any form of emotion escapes him. Still, all objective evidence pointed to the senator being a good man. His death was sure to cause an effect.

Men in military uniform entered the plane. Ninoy Aquino rose from his seat, anticipating them. As the men escorted him away, the soldier stood from his seat. He looked at Alexander, who gave him a nod of approval, saying to go ahead. It was time.

Aquino climbed down the stairs, making his way toward the tarmac. Crowds of his supporters waited for him below. They cheered on as the waved their yellow ribbons, handkerchiefs, fans, and any other object they could wave for the senator to see. Yellow- the color of the resistance. The Winter Soldier prepared his .357 revolver- a discrete gun, but enough to do the job. The senator waved as he made his way down, and the soldier took his aim.

Gunshots rung in the suddenly silent and still air.

The Winter Soldier stared as he watched the senator fall down, down, down, grasping for something to hold onto and finding none. The stunned crowd watched on in silence.

The soldier’s breath hitches in his throat. As he watched his target fall, he was brought to a different time. A different person. That person too was falling.

He stared blankly, confused. In the midst of the tropical humidity, he felt snow. Bone-chilling snow that knifed into his skin. And mountains. Lots of mountains. And a train that ran along them.

He remembered a hand, leather gloved, reaching out. The hand’s owner was blonde, a man much bigger than him. His clothes were a righteous blue with patches of red- a proud white star took it rightful place in the middle of his chest. The man clutched at a round shield that matched the ensemble. Who was he?

The Winter Soldier remembered pale freezing white hands trying to make fingers meet. Was it his hands? The memory was blurry. He remembered that there was suddenly nothing. Nothing above and nothing below. Just the chilly air and the pale hand desperately reaching for the sky.

And then a yell.

“_BUCKY!_”

_Bucky?_ Who the hell is Bucky? Was that _his_ name? He had no clue. He remembered only black after that.

He kept trying to fit together pieces that weren’t there, until he felt a strong grip on his shoulder.

”_What the hell are you doing? We have to get out of here,_” Alexander angrily whispered at the soldier.

The soldier came to his senses, putting aside his previous thoughts. The soldier did not like things he didn’t understand. He followed Pierce out another exit of the plane, and with everyone so focused on the senator laying on the tarmac in a pool of his own blood and another man who took a bullet that was not meant for him, no one had noticed the white haired old white man in a suit leave the plane with his companion, a large long-haired heavily-muscled brute with the metal arm that had the most intimidating red star engraved on it. 

**The next day**  
**Clandestine bunkers, Camp Lehigh, New Jersey, United States of America**

The Winter Soldier sat in his chair, quiet. They were going to put him to sleep again, and usually he would be fighting back, but he was too preoccupied with the memories that had come to him at the shooting. He sat there without even a tug at his restraints.

Alexander noticed the man’s stillness, and found it to be odd.

”Time to go back to sleep, _Winter Soldier_. What, too tired for a struggle today?” taunted Pierce.

Hardened cold blue eyes met Alexander’s. He was shocked to see a more firm emotion in them. There never had been.

”My name was Bucky,” replied the man in the chair.

Alexander’s blood turned cold. He was not meant to remember. He never had before. Alexander could only stare at the man in the chair, saying nothing, watching his resolve grow, dumbfounded.

”My name was Bucky, and someone tried to save me,” the soldier continued, looking down, trying to recall what he had the previous day.

”I was going to fall to my death and someone tried to save me.”

”And...” Bucky said, unsure this time, his imploring eyes boring their way into Alexander’s soul. “I think I loved him.”

At this, Alexander, clearly unnerved, decided he had let the soldier go on for far too long. He looked at the handlers.

”Wipe him,” he said dismissively.

Bucky watched the handlers make their way to him and he was gripped in the chilling fist of fear. He knew what that meant. Not only did it mean extra pain, it also meant that whatever he remembered would also be taken away from him. He fought back with a strength like never before. The leather straps that held him down began to give out to his thrashing. Unfortunately, the handlers managed to begin the machine’s mind wiping procedure. Bucky felt his mind begin to go blank. _No_, he pleaded, but nobody could’ve heard him now.

He thought of only one name in despair.

_Steve._

And everything went still.

Alexander watched as everything the soldier was got swept away. This was most unusual. The Winter Soldier had never remembered his past to this day. It’s something he would have to look into.

But that was something for another day. Anyway, it seems to be a while until the Winter Soldier would be needed again. He made his way through the underground concrete maze toward his office. He had a call to make.

He picked up the telephone and began dialling the number.

”Hello, Ferdinand. I hope you were pleased with the results.”

”Indeed I was, Alexander. Indeed I was,” said the voice at the other end of the line. “Yet another successful job in the Winter Soldier’s ledger. Seems Hydra was right to invest in the endeavour.”

Alexander agreed. “Yes, it seems so.”

”Well, I must go. The media must be handled given the recent turn of events.”

”Understandable.”

”Goodbye, Alexander. Hail Hydra.”

”Hail Hydra.”

There was click at the end of the line then everything went quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> From 1972 to 1986, the Philippines was put under Martial Law by President Ferdinand Marcos, who was desperate to cling to the power he was bestowed. Anyone who dared even question that power was dealt with, proceeding with jailings, kidnappings, torture, mysterious disappearances, and simple straight-up murder by Marcos's men. People began fighting back at these injustices with activism and rebellion, headed by leftist organizations or politicians against the regime. Ninoy Aquino was the most influential of these politicians. People rallied their support for him, and because of him, a revolution against Marcos was imminent (which happened anyway less than 3 years after Aquino's death). Ninoy Aquino suffered a heart attack and sought care in the US under an agreement with the Marcoses for exile. However, as tensions rose, Ninoy saw it fit to return home to help the people. Many warned him against doing so, knowing he would be jailed or assassinated, but the words he uttered in the fic, "If it's my fate to die by an assassin's bullet, so be it. But I cannot be petrified by inaction, or fear of assassination, and therefore stay in the sidelines" was an actual quote from Aquino himself as his response to the threat of death. Within minutes of his plane landing in the Philippines, he was shot on his way down the stairs leading out of the plane, right in front of the crowds who came to see his return.  
Let it be known though, that it is still not confirmed to this day who masterminded the shooting. There is no proof that Marcos did it, nor anyone else for that matter. This is mere speculation in the fic. Some even speculated his in-laws were behind it. No one really knows.  
Still Ninoy Aquino's death did the opposite of killing the people's spirit, but rather bolstered it. People were so angry, that in 1986, they held a revolution, with it's official color being yellow, Ninoy's color. The same four days of the revolution, Corazon Aquino, Ninoy's wife, was elected the new president of the Philippines in the snap elections. It was she who restored democracy to the country in the name of her husband.


End file.
